


Amoral Virtue

by RamblingPug



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eremika - Freeform, F/M, Multi, armikasa, ereminkasa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamblingPug/pseuds/RamblingPug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gulps, unable to believe what she's insinuating.<br/>"Are you saying Eren t-ties you up?"<br/>She smiles, only because Armin is so shocked it's adorable. "Well," she says, slowly, making sure to drag her words out, enjoying the shock on his face, "Only if I ask nicely."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amoral Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know where this came from.

**WARNING : Okay this is rated a serious R, kiddos. It contains vast proportions (meaning : pretty much _only_ ) of sexual decadence and promiscuity.**

  
Most of his life, Armin's always done things right.

He's tried not to cause too much trouble, he's used his head, he had learnt to persevere when things weren't going his way.

 He'd fallen in love but had learnt not to be a creep about it.

He had learnt to look away when he was supposed to. 

He had learnt that those dreams in the middle of the night, that came whether you wanted them to or not would be explicit, and dirty and he couldn't help it. It shamed him sometimes, the length of details his innocent mind would provide, the reaction his body would produce. 

In fact, when he first started getting those dreams he could clench his eyes shut and will his thoughts away, think of Titans and everything horrible in the world, but his mind would drag him back, deep into the cove of the sick and the sinful, where he could see her, _touch her_ , and do things to her. 

Guilt would consume him the very next day because he would look at her, talk to her and he'd swear to himself that there was no way, not even in his mind, he would disrespect her like that ever again.

Not her. 

Not _Mikasa_. 

But he is nineteen now, and his eyes still sparkle blue but with less innocence, and he no longer has raging teenage hormones to claim as his defence. 

The fantasies hadn't stopped but they no longer pounced upon him in the dead of the night, when he least expected it. They had streamed into his conscious now, images of watching her train, and spar and just simply exist. With him. 

But it was okay, in their lifestyle where death was served almost daily, you learn to value your distractions, your guilty pleasures.

So he had learnt to solve those problems efficiently, treating them as inevitable and sighing when he imagined her mouth on himself, instead of his own fist. In his head, she would be good at it, eager even, generous with the usage of her tongue. 

He tries to minimise the visuals of her face because he likes to pretend that if he doesn't see her face then there's no proof that it's _her_ he dreams of.

But it's difficult, especially her eyes, stone grey and cold, chilling him sometimes, drawing him inside and mesmerising him.

And when he had seen her last night, those same dark eyes, glazed over with a glint far more potent than his darkest fantasies, he could do little more than fight for his breath.

He had stood dumbstruck in the gap of the dungeon doorway – the one the legion only used when they were holding someone captive – while he watched her, wild and _free_ like he had never seen her before, hands shackled above her head, head thrown back in what he could have only described as _ecstasy… with_ her legs wrapped around _Eren._

The candle flickered, emphasizing the stark contrast between Eren’s bronzed skin and her much paler body. It gave him light to see the way she writhed, resisting his assault, to hear her plead “no,” even though her body pushed into his touch eagerly.

It was enough to make him blush crimson, the things they were doing, and even though he knew what _he, himself,_ was doing was all manner of wrong, he just _couldn’t_ look away.

Not even when Eren covered her mouth with his to drink in her whimpers, and stifle his own groans when they finished together. Despite the blatant depravity of it all, he had held her tenderly, eager to remove the handcuffs off of her. “I don’t know why you like them so tight,” he had muttered disapprovingly, rubbing her wrists gingerly.

She shrugged, smiling slightly and when she turned to kiss him, bare and flushed from her exertions, Armin could have sworn he had never seen anything more beautiful.

It was at this point that her eyes glanced, for the briefest second, towards the door. The Scouting Legion had taught him agility but Armin had also learnt that _nothing, ever,_ escapes Mikasa. So even though he did his best to hide, he knew without a doubt that she had seen him.

 

.. 

 

 He gulps, unable to believe what she's insinuating. 

"Are you saying Eren t-ties you up?" 

She smiles, only because Armin is so shocked it's adorable. "Well," she says, slowly, making sure to drag her words out, enjoying the shock on his face, "Only if I ask nicely." 

"Are you," he stutters a little, shy, pink tinges under the golden fan of his bangs, "Really. You know. Okay with all this?"

He asks this when they are bringing back firewood from the forest, keeping his voice low, careful that Jean and the others don't here. She notices that although he's been a nervous ball of energy all day, he only asks this question when Eren isn't around.

She smiles at him, amused, because he should know by now, that if she weren't okay with this, none of it would have ever transpired. She can tell that he’s shocked by the revelation of these… _circumstances._ Shocked by this side of her she’s never let anyone see.

"I don't know," he despairs, confused when she doesn't say anything, "you've always been so strong, so... On top of everything. But with him..." 

"Does it bother you, Armin?" He wonders why he's never noticed how alluring her voice sounds, especially like this, low and in the darkness of the dungeon. "That I let Eren do those things to me?" 

She moves closer to him, eyes fixed solely on him. "Did you not approve when Eren held me down that way, and _hurt me_ , even when I begged him not to?" 

He gulps, because she's gotten so incredibly close, he can see her eyelashes dusting the gentle curve of her cheekbones, dark eyes glittering with unnamed passion as she runs a finger over his wrist. She stops for a moment and he can feel her chuckle resounding through him as his heartbeat thrums fast and errant under her skin. 

"Did you hate to see him humiliate me in front of you, begging him for release as he used my body?" 

Her lips are almost on his, stealing his air, nibbling at his flesh with her words. "I-it wasn't right," he tries to get out, saying what he thinks he should say mostly because his lips would brush hers as he speaks.

"Liar," she whispers and it is _divine_ truth from the mouth of a goddess. "I think you rather enjoyed it."

Her hand slips across his jeans, running idle fingers across his fly. 

He lets out the most embarrassing groan, betraying his self-control, his lower half jumping to attention eagerly at her touch. 

Her mouth curves into a smile against his, and subconsciously, he presses against her, allowing his tongue to slip inside her mouth, tasting sweetly of the chilled night air. 

"I think," she says, slowly, dragging the words out, caressing his lips with her teeth, and pulling his hand firmly onto her breast, "I think, _you_ want to do those things to me too." 

He moans in agreement, eager to get back inside her mouth, desperate to feel her body flush against his. So he grabs what she so readily gives, tearing at her shirt buttons and tossing the fabric aside. 

Halfway through his ravishment of her, something gnaws at him. "Is this okay?" 

Her eyes are almost glazed over but his question snaps her out of it, her daze leaving irritation evident in her expression. "Well," he whispers, shy even though his hands and the rest of him are _not_ , "will Eren be okay with this?" 

He had watched her last night, her body a slave to his direction, bending to his whims and writhing in pleasure when he bowed her so. 

"Armin," she asks, her eyes gleaming in sensuality, "are  _you_ okay with this?" 

He hesitates and she sees this so she places a firm hand on him, slow, fisted movements coaxing an answer out of him. "Because I am."  
He groans under her expert touch, because it's Mikasa and she's just so damn good at whatever she does, be it slaying Titans or stroking him up the way he likes best.

He nods, reluctantly, still unsure if this was wrong, whether his actions were a betrayal to his best friend but when she moves against him it's easy to soak in the thrill of this debauchery and forget morals as a whole. 

He is so consumed by this feeling that he shifts, pressing her into the wall, into a position that can't be comfortable, with the wall scraping against her back. But he sees her eyes wide, pupils blown in sheer arousal and he knows it just excites her further.

The light from outside is little but it is enough to illuminate her, and her glorious body that tightens under his touch.   
And touch her he does, shamelessly with unrestrained abandon, caressing and squeezing, dragging breathless moans out of her swollen mouth.

He notices that it is roughness that excites her, pain so essentially entwined with pleasure that makes her whimper, lips parting in beautiful, helpless gasps.  He wonders if this is what drove Eren to be so brutal with her last night. This feeling of wanting to thrust harder, deeper, wringing _pretty_ cries out of her till she breaks. 

It affects him as profoundly as it affects her, as he buries himself between her breasts, muffling his pleasured groans in her supple flesh as she throws her head back and gasps, squeezing his hand tight as she rides out her ecstasy. 

She kisses him one last time, full on the mouth, heated passion like he had never known was possible and looks tenderly into his eyes. 

"He only gives me what I want, Armin," she murmurs, as she leaves him to fix up her uniform. "Just like you did." 

.. 

Sitting next to Eren at dinner is pure torture, served up to her in a package of green eyes and the most delicious dark hair and wild, teasing fingers that trace tempting patterns on the inside of her thighs. 

She is already sensitive from her dungeon diversions with Armin and his torment only makes her swallow the entirety of her dinner with a severe flush riding on her pale cheeks. 

"Spread your legs for me," he orders, when he is on the far end of the room, nowhere near close enough, but he likes this knowledge that she will do what he says anyway, revels in seeing her open and so desperately ready for him before he even touches her. 

When he does reach her, he's already dispelled of his clothes and she hopes that he will just bend her over and take her, but he has other plans, other methods to draw out the suffering of her wait. His fingers skim the pass of her toes and she convulses, insanely sensitive all over.   His lips draw delicate patterns along the inside of her legs and she shivers.

"Eren," she _wants_ to demand, but it comes out as a _plea_ , a meek request for him to be more forceful with her, to touch her like he _means_ it.

He dips his tongue into her centre but he takes it out too soon, this fleeting moment of fullness too much for her to bear.

"You taste of him," he says, and she knows, instantly, that he's aware of her indulgence.

She looks at him warily, wondering if he will draw away from her in disgust or reprimand her for not allowing him to watch. 

He nibbles on her engorged lips, and she groans. "Was he good to you?" 

She smiles, almost, well she would if his assault didn't have her mouth hanging open for air to breathe.

"Yes," she breathes, Armin was good to her in a way that only Armin could be, giving himself to her entirely, just as she had to him. 

Eren hovers over her, looming over her, taking over her being and shadowing her world. He runs his hands up her calf and without warning he yanks it upward, hooking it above his shoulder. When he thrusts into her, he is unapologetic, unrelenting, pushing into her till the brink of pain. 

And there is _nothing_ she loves more. 

"Did you think of me, Mikasa?" He demands, even though he knows the answer, spreading her open and taking her completely, stealing her space, her air. 

But she knows he likes to hear it as much as she likes to admit to it, that there is never a moment when she _does not_ think of him, of his hands on her, of him inside her, of him loving her in _this_ way, the way she craves most. 

" _Always_." 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I’m just gonna… go hide now… Bye


End file.
